Bedtime

When she's six, she's oh so good. She brushes her teeth. She says her prayers. Checks under the bed. And makes sure her toes are tucked in tight.

The checking goes first. She's no longer a child. She doesn't believe in fairy tales. There's school and shopping and boys. Her cell phone alone hardly leaves time to brush her teeth. Once in the morning's enough.

Next to last go the prayers.

All grown up, she comes home drunk. She strips off shoes and socks and clothes and falls into bed.

And from under her bed, the monster licks her foot.